DRIVING THOUGHTS

I only wake at dawn for early morning flights or road trips. But on May 12, I got up at five to vote. I had hoped that the allotted voting time for senior citizens, pregnant women, and persons with disabilities (PWDs) from five to seven in the morning would offer a more relaxed experience.

I was wrong.

Even before I arrived, thousands were already in line—mostly senior citizens, some pregnant women, and a number of PWDs. Most were ambulant and cheerful; a few were in wheelchairs, while others clung to family members for support. Beside them, two or three other long queues had formed—young voters waiting for the official opening of the polling center at 7 a.m.

They were all literally raring to vote. The more able-bodied moved from line to information desk and back, trying to verify their precinct clusters. In some cases, multiple precincts had been assigned to a single voting area, making the process even more confusing.

I live in what is reportedly one of the barangays with the largest voter populations, so the polling place—a large gymnasium converted into multiple precincts—was overflowing. Yet it was filled with people who had good intentions.

There were the voters who showed up to fulfill their civic duty. There were the teachers working tirelessly to ensure the process ran smoothly. Young people wearing IDs labeled “Poll Watcher” were monitoring the elections. And then there was an impressive mix of volunteers: outside were marshals walking to and fro; barkers who called out which precincts were ready for more voters; and ushers who guided people to where they needed to be.

It took me exactly an hour—from joining the queue to exiting the gate. In between, I had time to wave my Spanish fan to fight off the heat. Even at that early hour, it was so hot that my sweat glands went into overdrive.

I surprised myself. I didn’t complain or utter a single impatient word—not even when a few seniors pretended not to understand and tried to cut into my line. I simply stood my ground and politely claimed my spot. (I hope this isn’t an age-related habit, but I noticed many seniors seemed especially impatient to get ahead.)

This whole experience was new for me. I usually avoid standing in lines. I avoid waking before 8 a.m. (because I sleep at 2 a.m.). I avoid activities that involve waiting around for my turn.

But on that day, when we had to choose 12 senators, members of the House of Representatives, and local officials, I set all that aside. So did the thousands I saw at the polling places—and those I saw later in the news.

Despite the many cynical voices who say voting won’t change anything, the sight of people waking at dawn, standing in long lines, and braving the heat was proof to me that many still believe in democracy.

I saw a senior citizen being helped up a ramp by two strangers—both voters themselves, pausing their own place in line to assist. I noticed a young woman, likely a first-time voter, nervously clutching her list and trying to memorize it. A tricycle driver nearby, waiting in the sweltering heat, half-joked, “Sana kung sino man ’yung iboboto ko, may magandang mangyari kahit papano.” (I hope that whoever I vote for brings at least some good.)

These little vignettes are more than anecdotes. They reflect our political culture—one that is deeply personal, often emotional, and sometimes improvised.

They’re also signs of a growing electorate that wants more than slogans. Though still a minority in some areas, rational, issue-based voting is no longer confined to the so-called “informed elite.” Social media—despite its flaws—has widened access to political discourse. Of course, the challenge remains: how to navigate through the misinformation. But even the effort to look beyond surface-level appeal is a hopeful sign.

Voter behavior at polling places offers a window into the values, fears, and hopes of ordinary Filipinos. Democracy may be maturing, but it remains deeply shaped by our daily realities—the information we have, the relationships we hold, and the struggles we face.

The ballot may be private, but the act of voting is deeply communal. It is shaped by who we live with, who we listen to, and what we hope for.

(As I exited the polling place, I had to carefully weave my way out—because the street outside was now packed with people, all still waiting in line.)